


Detective Gavin Dickhead

by EmberSkye



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor Not Taking Care of Himself, Father-Son Relationship, Fever, Gavin is an asshole, Gen, Hank being a Good Dad™, Injury, Sickfic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 23:32:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15617457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmberSkye/pseuds/EmberSkye
Summary: Connor is injured by DPD's resident Detective Dickhead. At first he seems fine, but in time he realizes that he is in fact, not. He tries to fix the problem on his own, but realizes he needs Hank to help him.





	Detective Gavin Dickhead

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after recieving a prompt on Tumblr. I think it's pretty good. There are things I could technically change, but this took me like 2 weeks to finish. I'm slow andl tired, so you'll have to accept it how it is. I hope you enjoy!!

Gavin Reed is an asshole, which isn’t uncommon knowledge, but Connor knows it best. Whether it be through petty pranks, snide remarks, or even just a glare, Gavin makes it his personal mission to fuck up Connor’s day in any way possible. He always manages to get on Connor’s nerves, but because Connor is patient, he’s able to let most of the torment roll of his synthetic skin.

Today is different, however. As soon as Connor walks into the room, Gavin targets him. This is odd, even for Gavin. He normally gives Connor the first few minutes to settle in.

Apparently, he’s got some pent up frustration, because Connor feels the brunt of his aggression by a foot shooting out unexpectedly, successfully tripping Connor and sending him forward into a desk. His head is the first to make contact with it, and he lands with an inhuman, plastic sort of crack. He realizes the skin at the base of his left temple has broken away, but his thoughts shutter and his sensors shut down out of shock. There’s a few seconds (or a few minutes, Connor can’t tell) of blackness before his optical units spring back to life, revealing a chaotic scene in front of him.

Hank is on the ground, beside Connor, screaming at Gavin. Gavin has a bloody nose, and is also screaming. Fowler’s there too, holding Gavin back, yelling at both of them to stop. Connor feels hands brush against his arms, and he looks up to see Hank no longer yelling, but wearing a look of concern. He’s saying something to Connor, but Connor only catches the tail end of it. His audio regulator seems to be lagging. There’s static in his ears.

“H…ank?” Great, now his voice box was malfunctioning too. Had his fall really been that bad?

“Kid! Are you alright? Fuck, tell me you’re okay,” Hank says the last part more for himself. He’s keeping Connor on the ground, and pushes as Connor tries to sit up. He shakes his head, and tells Connor to rest for a second. “Just sit tight, son, sit tight.” Hank’s fussing over him. He looks for any trace of thirium, any damage, but when he comes up with nothing, he finally removes his hand from Connor’s chest.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant,” Connor says. With Hank’s hand gone, Connor sits up. He immediately feels dizzy, but pushes the feeling to the back of his mind. He runs a diagnostic. There’s a slight crack where he had hit his head, but otherwise, he’s okay. He keeps the damage report to himself, and tells Hank that he’s fully operational. It takes a few minutes of convincing, but eventually, Hank accepts and Connor soon finds himself sitting at his desk filling out paperwork for their most recent investigation.

~

If Connor were to pick his least favorite part of being a detective, he would have to say it’s all of the paperwork. Connor estimates that they spend about 53% of their workload filling out files and sending reports. Sure, most of the files are about their current cases, but without leads or very much information, the task becomes mundane. Connor finds himself bored most of the time.

He craves a lead. For a crime scene to be discovered. He wants something interesting to happen. He wants to take Sumo for a walk.

_ Anything but this _ , he thinks. His head is resting on his hand as he reads reports from recent crimes in their jurisdiction. This has to be the third time he’s read them within the last hour. He has every word memorized. Every theory completed.

Connor is sure he could solve every single case without even looking through the evidence (which he has. He might be a deviant now, but that doesn’t mean he’ll skip out on responsibilities).

The next hour follows in a very similar fashion. Review files, fill out paperwork, read through everything 3 million times; rinse, and repeat. He hates how slow the day moves, hates the fact that even Hank has finished his work. They’re just sitting at this point, making themselves look busy to avoid Fowler’s warnings. Gavin is glaring at them from across the room, and has been for the past 5 minutes and 24 seconds. Connor doesn’t need to turn to know what he looks like.

Everything is so quiet and boring, that Connor actually jumps when Hank speak to him. It seems he had been drifting a bit there, as he misses the words by a long shot. He turns his head to inquire as to what Hank had said.

“I said, do you need a break?” It’s about an hour before their normal lunch, but honestly, Connor wouldn’t mind taking it now. He nods and goes to follow Hank as they make their way out to the car.

At least, that’s what he wants to happen. It’s not, and Connor feels his head fill with vertigo as he stands. He catches himself on the edge of his desk as he rides out the dizzy spell. A warning flashes across his vision, but it’s oddly not the warning he was expecting.

**WARNING: Extreme temperature detected. Evacuate to nearest shelter. Biocomponents at risk of freezing.**

Connor knows for a fact that it wasn’t too cold inside the office. They were coming up on June. The weather lately had warmed considerably, so the fact that his diagnostics were warning him of non-existent threats, meant something had to be wrong.

“Kid?” Hank calls. He’s wearing a look of concern, but seems to realize where they are and quickly hides it. “You alright?”

Connor realizes his partner had just witnessed that entire episode, but pushes himself straight despite the sudden ache-like feeling developing within his joints. It almost feels like his biocomponents  _ were _ freezing, except that would be impossible. It must be a glitch. He runs a diagnostic.

It comes back normal.

“I’m fine,” Connor says. His tone is convincing, but Hank doesn’t miss the flash of yellow at Connor’s temple. He seems distracted by something, and Hank notices as Connor reads something invisible. Hank recognizes this as Connor reading something on his feed (Connor’s explained it before. Though, it’s not like Hank remembers in great detail), and wonders what it says. His LED is still spinning yellow. Connor also hasn’t put any effort into moving from his desk.

“Are you sure that the fall from earlier didn’t damage you?” Hank asks. He approaches Connor slowly, as if he doesn’t want to scare the deviant. He goes to place a hand on Connor’s arm, but the android suddenly marches past him, all but knocking Hank away.

“I’m fine,” Connor rattles off as he passes. Hank has already started chasing him, and even manages to match Connor’s stride by time they reach the car.

“Connor-” Hank tries to catch Connor by the wrist, tries to see what’s going on, but Connor is already in the car by time his hand closes on nothing. Hank stands with his hand extended for a few seconds, then seems to remember himself and moves to the drivers side door. He throws the door open and sits roughly into the seat. He plunges his key into the ignition, but doesn’t make a move to turn it on yet.

“What the  _ fuck _ , Connor?” Hank huffs and turns to face his partner. Connor is looking out the window, pretending like nothing’s happened. Hank huffs again, and crosses his arms. “What was that about?” He asks. Connor still doesn’t speak.

So this is the game he wants to play? The silent game? Fine. He’ll go along with it (while also keeping an eye on the android. He’s not worried,  _ you’re _ worried). Hank was patient enough to wait. He  _ had _ raised a kid for six years after all, he can tolerate Connor holding his breath for a while. Plus, if it gets too bad, Hank knows the kid will come running to him. He’ll help, obviously, but he won’t act like he’s too happy about it.

Connor seems to appreciate the silence. He’s still staring out the window, and his LED has shifted back to blue. Hank lets out one more disgruntled sigh and moves to turn the car on. Within seconds they’re moving, heading out of the parking lot and making their way over to Chicken Feed.

Connor almost rolls his eyes when the burger joint comes into view. He still can’t convince Hank to stop eating there. Yeah, Hank’s drinking has gotten better, and his diet is considerably healthier, but Connor still feels like Chicken Feed is a blemish on his record. He wishes Hank would give it up for good. Connor thinks perhaps someday he will. For now however, Connor is okay with the progress they’ve made in the last few months spent together.

~

When the two return home that night, it’s nearing 9:00 pm. After their trip to Chicken Feed, and a consistently boring day, they had  _ finally _ gotten a break in one of their cases. Unfortunately, this meant that they were due to go to a crime scene, and had spent the better part of three hours investigating, discussing, and filling out  _ more _ paperwork related to what they had found.  _ Then, _ they had spent a good amount of time talking to Fowler about the incident that had occurred that morning. Hank told Connor that it felt like being sent to the principal’s office as a child. He had also informed Connor that Fowler pissed him off sometimes, though Connor wasn’t surprised as this was common knowledge among the people in the office.

“Gavin should be  _ fired _ for that bullshit!” Hank shouts. He was fuming, as he often did after a meeting with Fowler. Connor softly reminds Hank about the incident with Perkins, and how it wasn’t much different. Hank begged to differ, and told Connor to shut up. “Perkins had it comin’ to him,” He says. He turns to Connor, and places a warm hand on Connor’s shoulder. “You’ve never done anything to that son-of-a-bitch.”

Connor wants to disagree. His relationship with Gavin is filled with many missteps, but he feels too tired to argue. All he wants at this point is to change and go into rest mode. Hank seems to have the same idea, and the two soon enough find themselves resting in their respective places. Hank in his room, and Connor on the couch with a pillow, blanket, and Sumo (he’s on Connor’s chest, or is attempting to be anyway. Connor finds that the dog’s weight somewhat takes away the stiff-achy feeling that’s overtaken his body. He hopes that feeling  disappears by morning.)

~

When Connor wakes, he expects it to be at 7:00 am like usual. Instead, he wakes at exactly 3:04 am to a more intense achy feeling, and what can only be described as a stifling heat. At first, he’s not sure what’s going on, and runs a diagnostic to figure out what may be wrong. It take a few seconds to process, but comes back normal, which confuses Connor even more. He feels odd.  _ Off _ . Something’s wrong. He’s definitely  _ not _ fine. Why is his diagnostic program telling him that he was?

_ A malfunction _ , he realizes. Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised. Of course his diagnostic program had been damaged. He  _ had _ hit his head. Though Connor supposes that might be why it took him so long to realize what was going on. It also explains why he felt so warm, and why his joints were malfunctioning too.

Connor wants to go back into rest mode, but finds he can’t. For one, he doesn’t know if his program is displaying the correct temperature, and for two, he’s just too uncomfortable. Both the couch, and his blanket seem to add to the overwhelming heat he feels, so his sits up. He feels restless, almost like he has too much energy, but he also feels exhausted, shaky, like he could collapse any moment. He knows he needs to do something, or at least move, but he doesn’t and spends the next few minutes trying to convince his legs to stand.  _ Go to the bathroom. Figure out what’s wrong. Do… something. _

But it doesn’t work. He feels too odd, too spinny. He feels like standing would just send him toppling over. He doesn’t  _ know _ what else he feels, and it’s terrifying.

He realizes he wants Hank, but decides against it. He needs to figure this out himself. Hank was just now fixing his sleep schedule. Connor didn’t want to mess up that progress. So he finally forces his legs to work, and stands unsteadily between the couch and the coffee table. His vision fills with static, and he feels lightheaded. Despite this, he stays on his feet, slowly making his way to the bathroom.

Getting there was much harder than Connor had been expecting. First of all, his steps were unsteady. The world felt like it was dipping underneath his feet, sending him swaying from the feeling of it. Second of all, for some unknown reason, he felt like curling in on himself. He felt almost cold, and his hands tremble as they reach for the bathroom door handle. He swings the door open, switches on the light, and squeezes his eyes shut as they painfully adjust to the brightness

Once inside, Connor has the immediate urge to sit down, but he stops himself as his mind shifts to his current mission— finding a thermometer.

Hank had to have one laying around. In the cabinet, on the sink,  _ somewhere _ . As Connor searches however, he finds that he is wrong. It’s not in the cabinet, not on the sink, or anywhere Connor thinks to search. He even checks twice, and sweeps the area with as much accuracy as possible, but still comes up with nothing. Now Connor’s desperate. His mind races for any solution. He needs to enter rest mode, but he  _ also _ needs to know his temperature before he can do that.

Connor’s eyes land on Hank’s bedroom door. He again thinks about waking Hank, about what would happen if he did, but his mind closes off that route before he can even consider it.  _ Hank would be mad _ , he thinks.  _ I have to figure this out myself. _ But he can’t. No matter what Connor thinks, or what he wants to do, that doesn’t change the fact that he could be overheating. It doesn’t change the fact that his diagnostic program is damaged. It doesn’t change the fact that he just  _ wants _ Hank. He wants to know he’s safe. That he won’t overheat, that he won’t shut down.

So Connor finds himself standing in front of Hank’s door, hesitating to knock in fear of angering the lieutenant. Logically, Connor knows Hank would be understanding. He  _ was _ is a parent at one point after all. Most people, even after years of not acting as a parent, often fall back into old habits without realizing it. Hank is no exception, and Connor often notices little actions that can only be explained as parental. It makes Connor happy to think of himself as Hank’s child (though saying it like that makes him feel very juvenile), though his mind always fills with regret whenever the thought occurs to him. He feels like he’s replacing Cole, which is ridiculous, but he can’t help but feel at least slightly doubtful.

Anyway, Connor stands in front of Hank’s door for about 12 minutes and 40 seconds before he manages to convince himself to open it. At first, nothing happens, and Connor just stands in the doorway with his hand on the doorknob. He freezes when Hank stirs, suddenly feeling out of place. He turns to leave, to get out of there, but stops when Hank’s tired voice calls out to him.  Connor realizes that light from the bathroom must have woken him. He immediately feels bad for even entering.

“Kid?” Hank calls. He’s sitting up in bed now, and reaches over to his lamp to turn it on. The light momentarily blinds Connor, despite it not being too bright, but he quickly recovers, and looks to Hank with every hint of guilt he can muster.

“Sorry Hank, I-” Connor falters as he tries to process how he’s feeling, but frowns when he can’t figure it out. He starts to exit the room again, but Hank stops him by moving over and patting the bed. Connor’s LED flashes to yellow for a moment, but he promptly understands, and steps to sit on the bed. Hank turns to him, and asks what wrong.

“You look like shit,” Hank teases, but his voice changes and he says, “which isn’t normal. Tell me what’s wrong.” Hank’s sounds decidedly not angry, which fills Connor’s chest with relief. He hadn’t wanted to bother Hank, but was glad he had nonetheless. It was nice to know he could rely on his partner, but it’s not like he didn’t know that already.

“I’m malfunctioning,” Connor says. The scene from this morning plays in his mind, but he pushes it away, focusing on the task at hand. “The injury I sustained earlier in the day has resulted in damage to my diagnostic program.” Connor always finds technical talk to be easier. It bothers Hank sometimes, but Connor finds he quite likes it. Not because he was a machine, but because it was just natural.

“Which means?”

“I can’t diagnose anything that could be wrong,” Connor says. “And I can’t check my current temperature. I could be at risk for overheating.” Hank nods as he realizes what Connor was saying. He also raises a hand to brush against Connor’s forehead. The robot  _ did _ look flushed. Hank wonders if it’s even possible for androids to spike fevers.

Making contact with Connor’s skin causes Hank to realize that it _ was _ . “Fuck Connor!” He shouts. “You’re burning up.” Hank pulls his hand away and looks to Connor with worry in his eyes. Connor acknowledges this and goes to explain further.

“That’s why I woke you,” Connor feels another pang of guilt, but swallows it down in sake of continuing. “I need a way of checking my actual temperature. It’s currently reading as normal, which obviously can’t be right. I was wondering if you knew where a thermometer was?” He fidgets with the hem of his shirt as Hank thinks. He hasn’t needed a thermometer in so long. When was the last time he had used one?

_ Ah ha _ , Hank thinks as he remembers. 4 years ago, shortly before the accident, Cole had gotten sick and needed a thermometer. Hank knew he still had it. He just didn’t quite know where. “Stay here,” he says. Then he stands and heads to the bathroom, soon enough returning with the item in question.

He holds it out to Connor, who takes it as Hank flops back down onto the bed. Connor inspects it, and immediately notes a teddy bear design. It was a children’s brand thermometer. Connor wonders how long Hank had owned it. He stares at it, unintentionally scanning it. It was covered in dust. Connor brushes off the tip before placing the device into his mouth. Truthfully, he feels awkward. He’s an advanced android. The practical  _ pride and joy _ of CyberLife’s technology. To think he actually needed a thermometer, and it was a  _ children’s _ thermometer too. Talk about embarrassing.

Hank snorts at the sight of Connor— with a  _ teddy bear _ thermometer in his mouth no less. Connor notices and stares at him pointedly, scrutinizing the older detective with faked hurt feelings. This just makes Hank laugh more, though he stops when the thermometer beeps. Connor removes it, shoots Hank one more fake glare, and reads off the number. “102.3° degrees,” he says. He holds the thermometer in his hands, glad to  _ finally _ know what his temperature was.

“Is that bad?” Hank asks. He honestly doesn’t know anything about androids. That’s bad by human standards, but Hank also knows that androids are more resilient than humans. Maybe that was normal. Maybe it wasn’t. Hank doesn’t  _ know _ .

Connor shakes his head. “No, if it rises then  _ yes _ , but I’ll keep an eye on it. As long as it doesn’t reach 104° degrees, I’ll be okay.” Hank’s shoulders slump when he hears this. He hadn’t realized how tense he was. He wasn’t used to being worried like that. He hasn’t felt like this in so long. Not since— he stops himself. Feelings are complicated. Thinking of the past only hurts. Hank turns his attention back to the boy in front of him. He looks relieved, but still uncomfortable. Hank wonders if android fevers feel anything like human fevers. He thinks they might as Connor shutters. His hands are shaking as he gets up to leave. He mumbles thanks to Hank, but Hank stops Connor before he’s even able to get off the bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hank asks. He catches Connor by the wrist— successfully this time— and makes sure he doesn’t try and get up again. Connor shoots his a confused glance, but doesn’t question it. Hank tries to sooth his confusion by saying, “you’re sick. Don’t even  _ think _ I’m letting you sleep on the couch like that.” He grasps at Connor’s shoulders, pushing the android down so that he was laying instead of sitting. Connor tries to protest (“This is your bed, Hank. Where will you sleep?”), but Hank shuts him up before he can even muster a word. “It’s a big bed,” Hank says. “We’ll share.”

So they do, and at first it’s awkward, but Connor soon enough finds himself drifting. He shifts into rest mode at exactly 4:13 am, Hank following suit shortly after.

~

He sleeps until 9:00, which would be abnormal if not for the fact that his systems were both repairing themselves, and in overdrive. Connor is not surprised when he wakes at this time, and is also not surprised when he wakes up alone. Hank normally gets up at 8:00. It seems today was not an exception. Connor sits up to start getting ready for the day.

Sitting up brings on a dizzy spell, which is weird because he  _ should _ be repaired. Injuries normally don’t take long, though Connor recognizes the fact that head injuries can take longer, especially since his CPU was his database, and is the thing that runs programs like diagnostics and repairs. He checks his temperature again, still unsure of his internal reading, and finds that it had risen to 103°. It’s still not overheat territory, but it was certainly bordering on it. Connor tries not to be worried. He needs to get up, go to work. Everything will be fine. He can rest when he’s done for the day.

So that’s his plan. Get ready for work, push through the day, and spend the rest of the night in rest mode. That’s what he tries to do too. He swings his feet off the bed, stands sways, and makes his way out of Hank’s bedroom to grab a suit and change.  _ I’ll get through work,  _ he thinks.  _ I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. _

He’s not fine.

The first indication of this, besides his rising temperature, is the malfunction of his optical units. Connor should have guessed he’d have problems with them too. They turn on and off at random. One second he’s okay, and then the next second he’s running into the doorway as they leave for work. Hank is immediately concerned. Connor tries to defend himself, tries to deny that anything was wrong, but he doesn’t get a chance, as Hank was instantly on to him.

“Connor…” Hank says as Connor moves away from the door frame. He’s rubbing the spot that had come in contact with the wall, and tries to shy away as Hank begins to stare at him. “What was that?” He’s using what Chris calls Hank’s “dad voice”, which makes Connor want to confess right then and there, but he doesn’t. He refuses to give in.  _ He was fine. He would be fine. _

“I’m fine, Lieutenant,” Connor says. “That was just a simple malfunction. I’m fine.” He says it as if he’s trying to convince himself. Hank’s not having any of it, and brushes his hand across Connor’s cheek before the deviant can even defend himself.

“You’re hot!” Hank shouts as he pulls his hand away. The tips of his fingers burn a bit, but there’s no redness, so he knows he fine. “You are  _ not _ fine.” Hank says. He grabs Connor and starts to pull him to the couch. He stops when Connor pulls back, successfully releasing his hand from Hank’s grip. He stands there like a child, and refuses  _ again _ to move as Hank tries to pull him. “Connor…” He growls.

“I’m fine, Hank,” Connor’s tone sounds mechanical, which sends a shiver down Hank’s spine. He hadn’t heard Connor use that voice since the revolution. He normally sounded so  _ alive _ . So much so that Hank often forgot Connor was a machine. It was almost disturbing to hear the opposite. “I am fully operational.”

“You’re  _ not _ ,” Hank repeats. He crosses his arms, preparing to use his stern voice, but stops when Connor shakes his head. He begins to move to the door again, and Hank just stands there stunned. Connor doesn’t normally listen to him, but this felt blatant. Hank thought Connor respected him. He thought they were a team. The combination of Connor’s cold tone, and the outright disregard for  _ anything  _ made Hank wonder if that were really true.

Connor goes to open the front door, but stops suddenly. Hank sees this, and is instantly intrigued. This changes as Connor’s body lets out a loud whir, and he falls. Just, falls. Not like someone had pushed him, but more like he was dropping dead.

~

When Connor comes to, Hank is above him, shaking his shoulders. He’s yelling, and Connor almost thinks he’s watching the memory of what had started all of this. But then Sumo comes into view, and Connor realizes that this  _ wasn’t  _ a dream. He’s not sure what was happening at first, but then remembers, and tries to sit up.

“Hank, I-” Connor says. His voice stutters, and he makes a noise like he’s clearing his voice. Hank is keeping him on the ground, no longer yelling, but looking like he was about to kick Connor in the ass.

“Fuck, Connor! You okay?” Connor notes how terrified Hank looks, and raises a hand to try and comfort him. He places the hand on Hank’s arm.

“I’m okay,” He says. “I’m okay.” Hank lets out a audible sigh of relief. His shoulders sag and he regains the terrible posture that Connor was trying tirelessly to correct.

“You gave me a fucking heart attack,” Hank places a hand to his chest, like he was in pain. He lets out a shaky breath, then says, “you are  _ not _ fine.” Connor nods, and sits up as Hank removes the hand he had been pressing into Connor’s chest. He tries to stand, which Hank lets him, but then the lieutenant grabs him and pulls him to the couch. He forces Connor onto his usual spot and then sits beside him. Connor straightens his tie, fixes his hair, and makes himself look perfect again.

“I’ll be fine in a moment,” He says. Hank looks over to him. Connor continues with, “then we can head to work.” Hank shakes his head.

“You aren’t going  _ anywhere _ ,” He says. Connor’s head whips around. He looks terrified for a moment, but quickly hides it.

“What?” He says. His LED spins yellow, but Hank just chuckles. The LED flashes to red.

“Kid, you’re obviously not well enough to go to work,” Hank gestures to Connor, “I’ll call Fowler and let him know-”

“No!” The word escapes Connor’s mouth before he can even stop himself. The terrified expression from earlier returns, and this time it stays. Hank sees this and places a hand on Connor’s leg to ground him. Connor doesn’t seem to notice it. “Wait, no. Hank. I’m okay, I swear.” He speaks quickly, tone completely panicked, which surprises Hank. Even after deviancy, Connor rarely shows fear. Now however, his eyes look wild, wide. Like Hank was going to hurt him. He’d never do that. He hopes Connor knows this.

“Son, what-”

“Please, Hank. I’m okay. I promise.” Connor doesn’t react when Hank tries to talk to him. He doesn’t react when Hank cups Connor’s cheeks. He just panics more. “Just let me go to work.” He whimpers. “Please.”

Hank’s heart melts at the sight. He almost tempted to say yes. He doesn’t, but only because he knows giving in would only damage Connor further. He needs to rest. He needs to heal. Hank makes a mental note to kick Gavin in the ass for causing this. He’ll pay for causing Connor pain. He doesn’t care if he’s fired for it.

“I’m sorry, kid,” He says. “You need to rest today. No work for you.” Connor looks hurt at this, and pulls away from Hank silently. His shoulders slump, and he sinks into the couch sadly. Hank tried to place a hand on Connor’s shoulder, but the android shakes him off. His shoulders shake with what can only be a sob. “Connor.” Hank calls.

“Please,” Connor whimpers again. His voice sounds teary, hurt. It breaks Hank’s heart to hear him like this. He looks up at Hank, there are tears in his eyes. A few fall down his cheek as he says, “Please, Hank.”

“Why do you want to go so badly?” Hank asks, but the question doesn’t feel right, so he asks, “why are you so scared?” Connor swipes at his eyes. He feels childish.

“I don’t want to go back,” Connor mumbles, but it’s so quiet that Hank doesn’t catch it. He asks Connor to repeat it, so he does. “I don’t want to go back.”

“Where? Work?” Hank asks. Connor shakes his head. He looks away, suddenly feeling ashamed. He takes a moment to reply, like he’s fighting with himself to confess.

“CyberLife.” He says. He sounds defeated, heartbroken. It’s enough to make Hank pull him into a hug. Connor doesn’t protest, but lets out another broken sob. He’s not sure why he feels like this. He chalks it up to newfound emotions, and an entirely too high temperature.

“That won’t happen, Connor,” Hank says. He runs a hand up and down Connor’s back, leaves it to cup the back of his head, then says, “That won’t happen.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, and what I could improve. I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing. Thanks for reading!!


End file.
